Communication Breakdown
by spadul
Summary: She no longer cares about making it out alive. All she can think, breath, drink, and consume is her need to finally figure him out. Because Draco Malfoy is an equation that needs to be solved. And Hermione Granger won’t rest until she’s received full mark
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling. No profit is being made.

Summary: She no longer cares about making it out alive. All she can think, breath, drink, and consume is her need to finally figure him out. Because Draco Malfoy is an equation that needs to be solved. And Hermione Granger won't rest until she's received full marks.

He says my name like there's a bad taste in his mouth. He doesn't enunciate it with the grace of a well-bred young man, he spits it out like something bitter and foul; something that has no business coexisting with him or near his shiny molars. But at this point, anything to remind me that I'm still alive and breathing will suffice.

I couldn't tell you how many days it's been since my initial capture. So many people take the ability to determine day from night for granted; a sense of that esteem would be most comforting to me now. I can assume, by the eerie echoes of distant moisture, that I am most likely holed up in a cave. I daresay you can imagine the horrors that come from being held captive in an underground realm of stone and moisture. The endless 'pit-patters' and 'drip-drops' are lost in the encyclopedias of my mind.

I've attempted many different diversionary tactics to keep my mind from slowly slipping back into the all-consuming act of counting each drop in the distance. Humming works best. In loud, drawn-out monotones. It's most effective when my eyes are shut tightly, (although this really doesn't make too much of a difference in the grand scale of things, given the pitch-black cavern I'm choosing to will away with all of my psyche) and hands firmly pressed over my ears.

There is one drawback to this particular scheme; or can I really call it a drawback? It annoys the one person my former adolescent self lived to annoy, so perhaps I can consider it a success.

Being submerged in dark for an extended period of time has seemed to sharpen my senses. My eyes can detect the faintest turn of movement. Or at least if there were any movement to detect, I would do so with precision.

It's like he's bound to the same position. If I had nocturnal vision, I'm as sure as my name is Hermione Granger that he would be sitting there, back straight and rigid against the cold stone of the cavern wall, arms folded across his chest in that pompous way only a Malfoy can possess when thrown into a cave and left to die.

I would give a pocketful of galleons to know why Draco Malfoy is currently sulking next to me, the apparent hostage of a Death Eater. Which is really quite baffling for me to understand, considering I have hard evidence (and the scar above my left elbow) to prove that Draco Malfoy is, without a doubt, a Death Eater. And I am as sure as Merlin's beard was long that he is not acting as a spy. The Order may take in charity cases, but we don't work miracles. There are some things that can't be done, and the sooner that we move on and accept this, the easier it is to get on with our lives and get closer to ridding the wizarding world of evil. Or so I'm told.

I've told them time and time again that with some bargaining and choice vocabulary, we could have a handful of Death Eaters turned spy before you could say _Riddikulus_. But I suppose that is a useless battle now, considering the only (and probably last) things he's managed to mumble in my general direction were words of unavoidable death and misfortune (not exactly progress in Becoming-A-Spy-101).

And if Draco Malfoy has ever been right in his life, now would be that time. Misfortune certainly is the most realistic way of describing this particular circumstance. Don't be alarmed when I say that despite my overall high intelligence level and esteem for embracing common sense, I find myself easily falling for many different forms of trickery. I'll admit to finding myself on the wrong end of one or two (or three four five) of the Weasley twins' patent trick wands every now and again, but I always knew enough to tread with caution.

I like to think that if my life were a Roman Epic, my tragic flaw would be my unabashed sense of compassion for living things.

Which, when thinking of moral fiber and the like, things such as compassion and courage are considered good traits, and not flaws. I'd like to disagree, and by doing so point out that these 'good traits' have landed me in quite the precarious position: practically buried alive in a tomb of solid granite walls and decorative limestone speleothems.

If it were not for the circumstances, I would be beside myself with curiosity. However that is not the case, for I have an overwhelming sense of near-death looming over my head. And what a paralyzing thing that is. To realize that there's no hope left. All throughout the war you've survived on not luck, but pure skill. And now where are you? You're not standing beside your best friends, preparing for the ultimate battle. You're miles underground simply waiting to die alongside your long-time nemesis. And as that particular wave of guilt pummeled me in the gut, I suppose I must have let out some sort of strangled sob, because for the first time in however long I've been thinking, I heard Malfoy's head rise from where it was resting. He groaned and now I hear him rubbing his eyes (or I suppose that's what he would be rubbing, for I definitely just woke him up).

"Granger," he said through clenched teeth. "If you were any louder you would wake the dead."

"Well wouldn't that be just delightful? You'd get to explain to them why exactly you and your band of cowards _killed_ them."

"I'm laughing on the inside, Granger." For somebody who dislikes me as much as he does, he surely makes it a point to use my surname at every opportunity.

"Naturally. And never you worry, the next time you decide to grace me with your charming state of torpidity I'll be sure to stop breathing entirely. To ensure that you're not to be bothered."

"That'll solve more than one of my problems, Granger. Sounds like you've outdone yourself this time."

Truth be told, I really have outdone myself. Not in the way he was implying, but outdone I was. I like the fact that I'm a fast thinker. I'm quick on my toes and everyone around me knows this. It's how I gained a lot of respect working with the Order, especially at my ripe age. I didn't have Harry's destiny or Ron's eons of red-haired, freckled relatives to back me up going in there. I was completely unremarkable for the first time in my life. And that terrified me. I found that when the fate of the entire wizarding world is at stake, soldiers for either the light or dark side will not hesitate killing you when they learn you received full marks on your OWLs. If anything, that information gives more reason for you to be thrown into a dusty room to investigate the patterns between attacks and the like.

"Speaking of being outdone, Malfoy," I started. I always had a problem concerning my curiosity. "Who did you piss off this time? Because, _honestly_, locked in a cave? I'm guessing this is something more than leaving the toilet seat up."

"Granger, I swear to Merlin. Death has never been more of a beacon of hope for me as it is now."

"Oh, you're just hilarious, aren't you?"

I'm glad I'll never have to hear Draco Malfoy chuckle ever again. It makes you feel as though Christmas has been cancelled. Also makes your insides freeze up, at the same time an awkwardly thick bile rises to your throat.

But although the mystery that is Draco Malfoy's sense of humor (however sick and twisted it may be) is surely entertaining and time consuming, I'm much more interested in finding out just what he's doing here. Perhaps his allegiance is not to the Dark Lord, and that he was found out? Or maybe he's not a prisoner here at all. Maybe he's here guarding me. Making sure I actually die. Which is really quite ridiculous. There are plenty of sharp rocks lying about. He could have done me off hours ago.

_Maybe he's here to make sure you stay alive._

But for what reason? I'm not important enough to be held hostage. Surely Harry wouldn't fall for their master plan; steal the girl and wait for the hero to ride in on his white horse. What the Death Eaters don't know is that I made Harry commit to a vow; a vow that stated that if, hypothetically, I was ever taken prisoner by the opposing side, he would not search for me until after the Dark Lord's demise. Which thinking back upon was a very horrible idea, and I'm realizing now why he so strongly fought against the notion. For if it had never taken place, I probably would have already been rescued, and there would be another Death Eater locked behind the concrete walls of Azkaban. I'll be sure to thank my stubbornness for risking my hide if I manage to make it out of here alive (which at this point isn't looking like a possibility).

"So how did they manage to get the infamous Hermione Granger?"

The man has a knack for grabbing ones attention.

"Pardon?"

"And here we all were, thinking the great Granger, brains of the Golden Trio, was this invincible force to be reckoned with. How did they finally catch you?"

"If by 'they' you mean 'we'? Assuming you're talking about the Death Eaters?"

"Humor me, Granger."

"I suppose wearing my 'I'm-The-Adorable-War-Hero-Friend-Of-Harry-Potter" shirt down Knockturn Alley was less inconspicuous than I had imagined."

If you asked me why I continue to say things of this nature, I'd have to wait a few moments to really think on the subject, because at this point I'm drawing a blank. What I do know is that there are at least a dozen objects within his reach that could possibly (if used in the right nature) kill me. And this realization terrifies me; mostly because it also makes me realize that either way, I'm not making it out of here alive. I'll never be married, I'll never have children, and I won't live to see the day where house elves will be liberated.

"I'm glad you're so nonchalant about this whole thing, Granger."

"Nonchalant? How can you mention anything on nonchalance when we're here for completely different reasons?"

"I don't know if you've noticed this, Granger, but the chances of either one of us making it out of here alive are a slim as Longbottom being able to defeat the Dark Lord with a tea napkin."

"Perhaps if he soaked the napkin in poison."

"It's not happening, Granger."

"So what is this? Some sort of sacrificial kidnapping mission?"

He's looking at me like I've gone completely off my rocker. I know this without even seeing his face. I can feel it in the air; it's those crazy senses I've adapted to. Every emotion that is passed between the two of us is transferred in a wave of energy. But I truthfully don't know what he finds so surprising about this. I'm completely sane; it's not hard to do the math when there's a kidnapping with a Death Eater present; he must have had something to do with it.

"You think much too highly of yourself, Granger."

"That's a charming sentiment coming from the likes of you."

"Oh, is it now?"

"It is."

"Certainly?"

"Undoubtedly."

"Positively?"

"Well aren't you just _precious_."

"Am I now?"

"Malfoy," I warned.

"Granger."

Is it bad when you've begun to consider the fact that you'd be much better off dead?

"Why are you here, Malfoy?"

"You didn't ask very nicely, Granger."

"Why are you here, arsehole?"

"I was caught slipping inside information to the Order."

My pulse stopped dead in my chest. He couldn't be serious. He sounded serious; he didn't sound as if he were joking in the slightest. Is there a way I couldn't have known about it?

"Really? Since –"

"No, not really. I don't have a death wish, Granger; I'm not stupid."

"Do you even realize how hypocritical that last statement was?"

"No, but I'm sure that you're planning on telling me regardless."

"You're a Death Eater, Malfoy. The only people who _don't_ want you dead or in prison are the people stupid enough to be right up there with you. And even then, at least half of _them_ are probably waiting for you to snuff it."

"Speaking of comrades, Granger, what on earth is taking Potter and the Weasel so long?"

"At least I have people who would willingly look for me."

"It's tragic that they'll never find you then, isn't it?"

"Wait, what? What do you mean, we'll never be found?"

"Granger, I know that you're a stubborn optimist, but you can't honestly believe that there's any hope for us left."

"I wasn't counting on it, Malfoy. But it has to at least be possible."

"Granger. You haven't a clue as to what we're in right now, do you?"

I couldn't find it in me to speak. He definitely knows something I don't. I just can't seem to escape the thought that he has something to do with this. It doesn't seem likely that he's in the same position I am. How could Draco Malfoy end up trapped and locked away? He's one of the highest-ranking Death Eaters, or so I'm told. The things he's done, well, I'm sure they'd make the strongest of stomachs a bit squeamish.

He chuckled loftily before he said, "Granger, you really haven't been doing your research."

"If you know something, Malfoy, I'd advise you to just get on with it."

"What are you going to do, Granger? 50 Galleons says you don't have your wand."

No, I don't have my wand, Malfoy. But I have a lucky jagged rock that could finely substitute for a dagger sitting ten inches to my left.

"Malfoy."

"It's a secret-kept cave, Granger. We've been using them for the past five years. For when we want to get rid of someone without leaving a trail."

"But if the Death Eater's can find it, then it must be distinguishable in some way."

"Granger, it's under the same pretense as a Fidelius Charm. One Death Eater has the knowledge of where we are, and even then there's no way of telling which one is the Secret Keeper."

"But Veritaserum would work, wouldn't it?"

"It would, but it would be no use to us now, what with the Final Battle and all."

"What?"

The Final Battle? He couldn't be talking of _the_ Final Battle. The final of all battles. Surely there is one final battle before _the_ final one takes place.

"You know, that thing where both sides meet up all at once to talk over their differences?"

"Your ingenious wit is really not necessary right now."

"Oh, but it would hardly be fun for me without it."

"How can you be sure the Final Battle is going on now?"

"We weren't just going to go into this thing completely unprepared, you know. And we sure as Merlin weren't going to sit around and wait for you lot to step up to the battle field. I suspect it's either already started or in the process of."

"So why aren't you there with them?"

"Why aren't you?"

"I'm locked in a cave, Malfoy."

Suddenly the silence reeked of smugness. I narrowed my eyes and pressed my lips tightly together, refusing to be the first one to speak after he so eloquently proved me wrong. And if there's one thing I hate more than being wrong, it's prolonged silences filled with boredom. And I'm as sure as this cave is dark that this will indeed be the longest of prolonged silences.

I sighed to indicate my extreme distaste for the situation (even though I knew it would do nothing for the silence, except extend its length) as I began to drum my hands on my thighs to the tune of "Eenie-meenie-minie-moe". Just as I was about to catch the baby by its toe, I heard a rustling over where Malfoy was sitting. I kept drumming my hands, because I could sense he was trying to be stealth in his operations. I willed my ears to act with more precision as I strained to interpret his every movement over the sounds of strumming hands against my legs.

Then, as if my body were imagining sounds for my ears to hear, I heard a most delicious noise. A noise I thought I would truly never hear again. But then I realized what the distinct 'crunch' must mean.

"Malfoy! You're eating an apple!"

"It's a pear, actually."

He had the nerve to speak between mouthfuls.

"I couldn't be bothered if it were a rotten plum! You have food!"

"Of course I do, Granger. A Malfoy never goes hungry."

Just as he said this, my stomach decided it was high time to grumble its protests of malnourishment.

"Malfoy, can I have some food?"

"Of course you can, Granger."

I waited for a few moments, eyes wide with excitement, waiting to hear him reach to wherever he was storing his goods. The sound never came.

"Well?"

"We're in a cave, Granger. Not a well."

"You said you were going to give me food."

"Ah, that is where you're wrong."

"Malfoy."

"You asked if you could have food. It is certainly possible for you to have food. _My_ food, on the other hand, is a completely different topic that we have not discussed. And just to put it out there, no, you may not have any of _my_ food."

I'll just wait until he falls asleep. Then I'll take his food.

"And don't plan on waiting for me to fall asleep, Granger. It won't be happening in this lifetime."

Bastard.

It must have been at least five hours later when I woke up, every bone in my body screaming for a scrap of comfortable fabric to lay upon. I wish the Death Eater who was in charge of my capture had at least allowed to me to die in comfort, with my knapsack even. But alas, I'm left sitting here on the hard rock, in my dirty khaki slacks and my thin cardigan.

And as a draft of particularly cold air chills me to the bone, I'm thankful that I can't see fully in the dark. For I'm not quite sure how I'd react to seeing Malfoy, probably resting upon a heated mattress, feeding himself grapes off of the stem like a King.

Which brings my train of thought to a completely different topic. How, exactly, was Malfoy so prepared for this? Normally when one is kidnapped, it's more of a take-and-go situation, not a let-them-gather-items-for-survival-needs type deal. If these caves were meant to be a sadistic tomb of sorts, they would certainly not allow the captured anything to prolong death.

This idea, in turn, leads me back to my initial hypothesis: that he's here to keep watch over me. Which, now that I have the time to think about it (without being interrupted by his witticism), is quite silly. If he were here as a type of surveillance to the Death Eater's, wouldn't it run more smoothly if his presence were not known? Or maybe I'm giving the Death Eater's too much credit, for it's not a little-known fact that they're not the brightest bunch of wizards.

I stare over at where (I assume) his body is laying, and I try to scheme up the most plausible reason to why he's here with food. Perhaps he was taking a picnic. And stumbled into the wrong cave?

Perhaps they give you too much credit, Hermione Granger, for that may have been the most idiotic thing you've thought in your lifetime. Death Eaters do not picnic. They eat raw meat and thick chunks of onion.

So I began to compile a list in my mind; Reasons Why Draco Malfoy is Stranded in Cave of Doom.

Kidnap has been crossed out. As well as picnicking, midnight stroll (for he was passed out when I 'arrived' early in the morning), apparation-gone-wrong (for he does not have a wand (that I have any knowledge of) present) and research. I was really getting quite frustrated. It's not as if he just strode right in here, well aware that he was going to be spending quite some time in a cave.

Somehow the gears in my brain clicked into motion and everything became clear. It was as if the Heavens beamed down the answer to me. I felt around the ground until my hand found a small pebble. Sitting up and squinting in Malfoy's general direction, I threw the rock and was satisfied when I heard it 'thud' against his silent form.

"Granger."

I suppose he was awake that entire time.

"I think I've found out why you're here."

I heard him right himself up against the wall.

"This ought to be good."

"You knew exactly when the Final Battle was set to begin."

"We've been over this, Granger. They said you were supposed to be smart."

"You were surprised when I showed up here."

"And you wouldn't be?"

"Malfoy."

"_Granger._"

"You planned on being here."

"You're senile."

"No, I really don't believe that."

"Well you should. You've gone completely off the map on this one, Granger."

"You knew the war was coming. You have food and Merlin knows what other supplies with you. Holy Hippogriff, Malfoy, you're _hiding_ here. You didn't know it was a secret-kept cave, or whatever it is. Because how would you know? And that explains why you were in this exact room; the same one I was sent to. Oh Merlin, it all makes so much sense!"

When his reply never came, I knew I had been right. And to be honest, I wasn't at all surprised. It was such a Malfoy move to pull. I wish it wasn't as dark in here, so he could see the smug smile on my face.

A minute later, something round landed in my lap. I picked it up, and the aroma of a fresh orange seeped into my nostrils.

Then I remembered. You can smell the smug in the air.

-

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	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling. No profit is being made. 

Part Two 

I'm not the kind of girl who chooses to comfort herself by emptying bottles of fire whiskey and the like. I can't remember a time when things were so bad that I was thirsty for that distinguishable burn in the throat. But right now? I'd give anything for a swig. I'd tilt my head back and gargle with the bitter liquid, I'm sure. Which is disgusting within itself, because drinking without care is harmful to the mind and the liver. 

It's as if now that I know his shameful reason for being here (and it really is quite shameful; if I were him I would probably die of self-loathing), he's going out of his way to be rude to me. He's always made a sport of it, but I'm guessing that it's safe to assume that now it's his life mission. And I really think this is a truth, considering his lifespan is going to end with me being the last person he's ever spoken to. Which kind of makes me feel as if I'm going to vomit. So I suppose the fire whiskey isn't necessary after all. 

I don't understand the way his mind works. I'm not saying that I would like to know the inner-workings of his thought processes, but I'd really be interested to find out why it is he does the things that he does. It's not so much the Death Eater business anymore, but more things that are focused around these cave-related times. Other than him being Britain's biggest ponce, what on earth are his reasons for hiding out here? There are many reasons that I could easily link to why an average human being would do such a thing, but all of those ideas couldn't possibly apply to Malfoy, because he is nowhere near being average, let alone a human being. 

I can't even fathom why I need to know so badly. I wish I could just adapt back to the same attitude I've held towards him for the past however many years of my life. But right now all I can focus on is each breath he takes. Wondering when he's going to strike. Because it's the only thing in his nature I can understand. Attacking the weak. And even then I can't begin to wonder why he does _that_. The theory goes; you attack those less fortunate than yourself to feel more powerful. But why would he need to do this? The last person on this planet who needs to feel (or be) more powerful is Draco Malfoy. 

He's been given anything anybody could ever dream of wanting: adoring parents, extreme wealth and overall good fortune, a beautiful home, the luxury of not ever having to lift a finger, and (strictly based upon his response from the female society as a whole) "charmingly handsome looks". I just don't think he realizes being a pompous git will not at all redeem himself for the mistakes he's made. You can't go bragging about robbing a bank, you wouldn't tell your neighbor if you purposefully shot their cat and you don't want to broadcast to the world that you're willingly supporting and aiding in the rise of Lord Voldemort. 

"Stop doing that." 

"Doing what?" I asked, alarmed. I can't recall doing anything that he would take notice of. 

"You were thinking about me, Granger. I can feel it." 

"I was not, you arrogant wad." 

"Stop trying to analyze me, Granger." 

"I wasn't." 

"Stop it." 

So now I'm sitting here, trying as hard as humanly possible to not think of him. What else is there to think about right now? My childhood? My early childhood could work; it didn't involve him in the slightest. I remember every year, the day after Easter holiday, my parents would take the day off work and would take me to the zoo. My favorite animals were the prairie dogs. I loved how they were so small and adorable. Just like… ferrets. 

"Granger." 

"I wasn't thinking about you!" I had to fight to stifle my laughter. 

"Just stop." 

"What exactly am I allowed to think about then, Malfoy?" 

"I don't bloody know. Just think of all the things you wanted but won't get to do before you die." 

"You can't be serious?" 

"I've been doing it for the past hour or so, Granger." 

"Because _that's_ not depressing." 

"Granger. There's life and then there's death. And if I may say, there's nothing not depressing about either one of those things." 

"But why willingly choose to think about unhappy things?" 

"There's not much choice in the matter, Granger. Death is inevitable. Thinking about it is inevitable." 

"But why think of all the things you haven't done? You should think about the things you have done. The things that you've done that will make you happy." 

Silence. 

"Right. Never mind." I should probably stop talking. 

"So, Granger." 

He bounces back quickly. 

"What were your life aspirations?" 

"To make a scarf with the finest ferret fur." 

"Charming. Anything else?" 

"Why would you even want to know?" 

"As much as I enjoy the banter, Granger, I'd like to have an actual conversation the moment before I die. Even if it is with someone of your social standing." 

"Nothing like an insult to help you spill your guts." 

"Come on, Granger. Nothing at all? Never had the desire to ride an elephant in India?" 

"Can't say so." I sighed and clicked my tongue. "Well, I would have wanted to get married." Why are you saying these things, Hermione? Why on earth would you say this to Draco Malfoy? 

"To the Weasel?" 

He could try to sound _more_ disgusted, just for my utter amusement. 

"Hah. No. Definitely not to Ron. Or Harry, for that matter." 

"What? Got a spare cousin laying around?" 

"You're one to talk, Pureblood." 

"Such a sharp insult, Mudblood." 

"Such quick wit for being inbred." 

"Interesting thought process for a Muggle." 

"Tosser." 

"Prudish minger." 

"One-inch wonder." 

"Muggle." 

"I don't deserve this." 

"You're wrong, Granger. You deserve it all." 

"I wish I were allergic to tea leaves." 

"Did you hear me, Granger? Did my saying you deserved to be locked here make its way into your thick Muggle skull?" 

"If only I had gone straight to St. Mungos." 

"Keep rambling on, Granger. Maybe soon you'll start foaming at the mouth." 

"Shouldn't have stopped." 

"What are you going on about, Granger? If you're going to waste your breath by speaking, it may as well be in coherent sentences." 

I snapped back into focus. 

"I have nothing to say to you, Malfoy." 

"You seemed pretty keen on telling me something just a moment ago." 

What was he even talking about? I wasn't telling him anything. From now on, it's only me in this cave. I am the sole entity in this breathing space. There is no such person as Draco Malfoy. And if there was a person who went by that name, I'm sure that I would never cross paths with them. 

"Where are you going?" 

So much for him not existing. 

"I'm standing up, Granger. It's what people do after they've been sitting in the same position for days." 

"So you're going to leave?" 

"I'll go for a stroll, yes." 

"A stroll? In the dark?" 

"It could be darker." 

"You're a Death Eater. Everything is darker." 

"That stings." 

"So you're going to leave me here by myself? In the dark?" 

"No, Granger." His footsteps paused. "I was going to wait for you to stand up so we could hold hands and skip during our exploration." 

Soon the footsteps disappeared all together, and I let myself assume he had walked straight off a ledge in his journeys, and that now I was truly going to die alone. And as the seconds turned into a minute, and that minute turned into ten, my legs began to itch and tingle with the want to move. My subconscious was pleading with my body to go after him; to find him. Because Draco Malfoy is an Arithmancy equation that needs to be solved. And I won't rest until I've received full marks. 

The more he says, the more he contradicts himself, the more he adds to his own initial equation. And the faster information is added; the sooner the levee that is Draco Malfoy will break and spill its contents into the soil. Then I'll have my answers. 

So now my legs are moving on their own accord, my body is being lifted off the ground. I feel weightless, I have to desperately clutch onto the granite wall to keep my balance. 

With shaky legs and unfocused eyes, I awkwardly made my way in the direction I remembered his footsteps travel in. I can vaguely make out shapes of walls, which is a rough guide of where I should and should not venture. I automatically began to think of all the mythological creatures I read stories about as a girl, all the possible beasts that would dwell in a cave, existing just to terrorize innocent humans like myself. Then I thought to the pictures I'd watch at theatre on my summer holiday, where people would fall from the ledges of a cave and break their spinal cords. 

Then I thought to the time when I was in my early twenties and was locked in a cave, the only thoughts I could produce being ones of sure self-destruction. 

With a great inhale of cool air, I ventured onward with my arms flailing out by my sides, aiming to feel anything that would possibly obstruct my path. As I rounded a particularly sinister corner, my thoughts led to tales of caves and creatures that dwell within. I instantly thought to my father and his love for Tolkien's trilogy. Which forced me to remember the viciousness of the goblins and trolls found in the depths of cave-esque dwellings. 

Now fearing the absolute worst, I kept my eyes peeled (as if opening my eyes as wide as possible would allow me to hear more precisely) and continued on. There's no history of heart attacks in my family, but I swear the moment my hand landed on the soft flesh of a living, breathing creature, my body went into a complete state of anaphylactic shock. I could only imagine the rows of jagged teeth waiting to tear my arm off and make a meal of me before I realized just exactly what was happening. 

"Don't get too excited, Granger." 

In a whirlwind of realization, I noticed that it was not a teething baby manticore looking for love in all the wrong places; it was the one Draco Malfoy. And I had my hand firmly pressed against his pectorals. 

In a _whoosh_ of surprising relief, I rubbed the sweat of my forehead and looked to where my hand was still resting on his chest. In a hasty movement I snatched my hand away, as if he were holding it there against my will. 

"I thought you were a troll." 

The amusement drained out of the atmosphere. 

"You can't be serious." 

"Trolls live in caves." 

"That was the most insulting thing you have ever presented me with. Which is outstanding within itself, because even sharing breathing space with you is insulting." 

"Oh honestly. Not all trolls are horrible." 

"Should have figured as much, what with your love for that oaf." 

"Hagrid's half giant. Not troll. Well, he _was_. He was." 

"Was he, now?" 

"He was killed." 

"Oh, right. When?" 

I smiled sadly in his memory. 

"After the storm on Hogsmede." 

"I was there; I didn't see him." 

"It was far after you'd left, I'm sure. I was injured, as you well know." A small twinge of pain shot through my arm at the remembrance. "Hagrid came after, he was taking care of me. Goyle killed him from behind." 

I could hear him shaking his head, telling me that I was wrong. 

"Goyle died that day." 

A nervous pounding tore through my insides. 

"I know." 

And that was it. The conversation was left open, all that needed to be said was left hanging in the air, obvious enough to tell just by walking through it. I had seen Goyle raising his wand and with the ounce of strength I possessed in my body I tried throwing a shielding charm towards his direction. Little did I know at the same time, three others tried to intervene, the result being fatal. I try not to dwell on it, though. We're in a war. These things are bound to happen; it's the result of choosing a side. 

These excuses barely skim the surface in terms of acceptance. 

It shocked me that just then was the closest to a real conversation I will ever have with him. And how it ended so quickly, due to the nature of it. Which, after a few moments of pondering the subject, is actually quite ridiculous, considering the only way the man knows how to speak to me is in a derogatory manner. So it seems that Draco Malfoy can dish it, but he can't take it. 

I continued to walk in silence with a triumphant smile plastered goofily across my face. I could feel that he knew it was there, although I'm sure he thought it was for a completely different reason. He probably thought I took pride in killing his friend. But it's not in my nature to tell him otherwise. He is the one who for years has hoped that my two best friends and myself included would collectively drop dead. So no, there's not an over-abundance of sympathy here. 

And that's how I know that sometime during these few years, Hermione Granger has changed. She's not this naïve little girl anymore; she actually knows things and knows when to not be forgiving. She knows when to have her guard up and also when it's wise for it to be down. 

I guess my only problem is keeping the guard intact. 

I tend to have a small issue in that particular area. I have a massive blind spot when it comes to doing the things I know are in my best interest. It's like when normal girls turn sixteen and they want to date an older boy who drives and drinks, but her parents won't allow it, and she goes with him just to defy their wishes. Except in my case, my parents are out in their world, oblivious to my own trauma as they install crowns and bridges, and I'm defying myself into my own spitfire of headaches and emotional turmoil. 

I know that I shouldn't care about anything that remotely concerns Draco Malfoy. If that was the case, I'm sure my life would be eons easier. But when it comes down to the act of actually not caring, I can't find it in me. There's not enough of me to invest myself in something that complex. So I regard him as any other. Which is about as dangerous as prodding an irritated cougar with your index finger. 

"So, Granger." 

"Here we go again." 

"Relax. Just trying to start a conversation here, Granger." 

"Oh? And how is that working out for you?" 

"Why don't you tell me how you got here?" 

"Why don't you play with fire?" 

"There's no reason to be proud, here, Granger. If you haven't noticed, we're in a tomb." 

The thing is, he's right. I already know why he's here, so technically, being the fair person I am, I should tell him. But that would be the closing step in admitting defeat, and to be honest, I'm really not ready for that. On the other hand, I can't begin to imagine how Malfoy must feel right now. For his coward to be revealed so scandalously to someone whom he loathes; I would be in ruins. Perhaps one can't be proud when death is afoot. 

"I played into a trap." 

"How did that happen? Certainly not a sink-hole in the ground, that would be too hilarious." 

He sounded excited. 

"No, no sink-holes. I was on my way to work, the hospital, and I decided to cut through the alleyway right before the cobblestone crossing; you know the one. The one that leads right to that quaint little coffee bar? Well I was walking on through, when I spotted a man in Muggle clothing stumble over a crack in the pavement, and his briefcase opened and everything spilled out everywhere. 

"Well, I started to help him gather everything, and I grabbed for a wristwatch, and that's when I felt the tugging at my navel. I don't really know what happened after that; all I know is that when I came to, I found you." 

"That wasn't really an obvious trap, Granger. They just used your weaknesses against you." 

"Yeah, but –" 

"But nothing. Any other decent person would have done the same." 

"But I should have realized." 

"Realized _what_, Granger? The whole point of being in disguise is so you won't be realized." 

"The watch was old and battered; the faceplate was even cracked. I saw that it didn't looking fitting with the rest of his belongings. What kills me is that under any other circumstance, it would be so bloody easy to trace that portkey. But it could have been made ages ago for all I know. And there is nothing suspicious about going to a cave; even Muggles go to caves." 

He made a gruff sounding noise in the pit of his throat, before (I'm almost positive) I heard him mutter, "Given the comparison it's nothing to be ashamed of." 

It scares me to imagine that Draco Malfoy possesses human emotions. I was content with my assumption that all monsters (and yes, Draco Malfoy, the coward that he is, is still and will forever be a monster) do not feel shame any longer. They do not feel. If they can commit such heinous crimes, they should not have enough human left in them to feel happy or sad. 

Unfortunately the display before me contradicts this assumption. I can cope with him feeling sorry for himself; that's not a surprise at all. Draco Malfoy's ego is an equally powerful separate entity from the actual man himself. It's what fuels him, I suppose. It's groundbreaking, however, that he said the things he did. Was that him trying to comfort me, or have I begun the 'cabin-fever'-esque hallucinations? I'm currently leaning towards the latter, only because I refuse to bring up the former in his presence. Or ever again, actually, in my entire existence, however long or short it may be. Because I'm sure as my days are numbered that was the first and last shred of remote decency I'll witness from one Draco Malfoy. And as greedy as it is, I'd hardly like to ruin the experience.

R&R, please.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling. No profit is being made.

* * *

Truth be told, I honestly think he's angry with me. Angry, annoyed, whatever the adjective is, it's what's keeping him always three paces ahead of me, arms either sternly by his side or mechanically folded across his chest. And then there's the sighing. The endless sighing; it's driving me bloody starkers. It's always through the nose. Always a deep inhale and an exaggeratedly long exhale. The kind of angry sigh reserved for disapproving fathers.

I haven't a clue to what has got his shiny coattails in a twist. But not knowing is certainly not helping with the need to figure him out. It would be worlds easier if he spoke to me. And not in the nature he has been for the past few days; in the manner a normal person would go about speaking to someone else. Not in guarded retorts and pompous opinions.

I know that his pride is an issue, as it is with every other male on the planet. I have experience in handling bruised prides; my best friend is a Weasley, after all.

I honestly can't grasp why he wouldn't just forget about that now. It's not as if I'll be running off and telling my friends what he said. And even if I did have somebody to tell, I'm sure as my legs are tired that I would rather die before having to explain to my dunderhead best friends exactly why I spoke to Draco Malfoy regarding something other than his prison sentence.

And blimey, my legs truly are tired. I feel as if I've been walking for days. And Merlin knows, maybe I have. How big is this ruddy cave? I feel as if I've just walked all the way to Saudi Arabia in the dark. With the world's most miserable companion. A few hours ago, however, he did hand me a stale chunk of bread and a bitter plum.

I couldn't help but to wonder what I would have received if he didn't loathe me more than average at the moment. With my luck, a giant turkey feast. Though the chances of him having that in his knapsack are generously slim (but if he somehow managed, would I really be surprised?).

So I just keep walking. Even though my knees are knocking and there's a rather painful stitch in my side and the sodding cave floor is not exactly forgiving on the soles of my shoes.

So why am I still walking? What service do I owe to Malfoy that's keeping my sore legs in painful motion? I should just stop. Stop and sit and revel in my despair.

But if I stop, the food is going to walk away. The food that is swinging past his stupid athletic body inside that bag. And do I really want the food to go away?

"Piss it," I grumbled and stopped my next step short.

Then as quickly as a snitch flies, Draco Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks and whipped around, the eerie bit of pale light showing an incredulous look on his face. I think he may have swallowed his tongue.

"Oh. I'm tired of walking."

He shook his head.

"Oh, er, right. It looks like there might be an opening up past these ridges. We can sit there."

He extended his hand and placed it on my shoulder to help me move along. He looked to my shoulder for a brief second and whipped his hand back, something unrecognizable flashing in his eyes.

And there's his intake of breath. As I followed him begrudgingly I waited to hear the sigh that I knew was going to inevitably follow.

It never came.

Was he holding his breath?

Oh, perhaps my Muggleborn flesh scalded him. Perhaps he broke out in a rash, a result from my serpentine skin. Perhaps I should just steal the knapsack and push him off of a cliff. Perhaps that would work if I were a big, burly man. However, that is not the case, so I'll follow him with a frown permanently set on my face.

He coughed to clear his throat. Oh, poor Draco. Maybe he's so allergic to my Muggle flesh that his throat is closing up. What a pity that would be.

"Well, here seems good."

"Fine," I snapped. I even crossed my arms like a petulant child, just for good measure. He took out a canteen and drank from it for a few brief seconds. Then he extended it to me.

"Water?"

Without a word I snatched it out of his hands, water sloshing out of the top.

"Bloody perfect." I rubbed desperately at the wet spot the water left, probably transferring dirt from my hands onto my pants. I could care less.

"I thought you were tired, Granger." The mysterious glow settled in our opening of the cave; it allowed me to see that he was frowning. And that made me angry.

"I _am_ tired."

"Then why the blasted dramatics, Granger? You got what you wanted."

Obviously,_Malfoy_, that statement is not true because you are still here.

I turned my angry glare on him. "My dramatics? Oh, so, is there a rule in this cave? There's only room for one wanker?"

"What in the name of Merlin are you going on about?"

"How's your hand, then, Malfoy? Need some burn ointment?"

"I have _no_ idea what you're talking about, Granger."

"Well you touched me, didn't you? With your hand, just then? Ho ho, be quick, Malfoy! Before you have to amputate it."

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but let it hang open for a moment. He snapped it shut and narrowed his eyes at me.

"You're a real piece of work, Granger." He was shaking his head. He had the nerve to shake his head. When he was finished being such a ponce, he lay down on his side and started in the ignore Hermione regime. Which didn't look like such a bad idea.

I slid down onto the cold stone, the rise and fall of my chest severely erratic with my anger.

"Wanker," I muttered softly. I guess it doesn't really make a difference if he hears me or not; it's not like I'll be fed again before I die. Wow. Before I die. It's actually been a while since I've really thought on the subject. When you're in a war, it's almost expected of you not to dwell on the fact that death is an ever-present force. But when you're faced with it, under such a different context then you taught yourself to deal with, it eats away at your reasoning and your character and everything that holds you together and keeps you sane and makes you the person attached to the name.

So now I lay here, my pulse throbbing loudly in my ears. It's almost ear splitting. I'm biting on my lower lip to ease the discomfort, although it's really not helping in the slightest. And then something I truly hadn't thought of hit me. My eyes widened in horror as I tried to scheme up a plan to make this work. I don't know how I hadn't realized this would be an issue before. I crouched into a sitting position and hoped against all hope that he had passed out. But, because luck is not on my side, the second I stood I heard his voice cut through the silence of the cave.

"Where are you going, Granger?"

"I need to go for a little walk." I kept my eyes pressed tightly together, my breath held uncomfortably long as I waited for his response.

"Okay," he said, gathering his things. "Lets go, then."

"No!"

"You _just_ said that you wanted to go."

"No, it's not that it's just. You can't come."

"Are you still griping about before, Granger? You can't be serious, it was your bloody shoulder –"

I sucked in the greatest amount of air my lungs would allow before saying what I was about to say.

"I have to _go_ to the bathroom."

I'm sure I heard the blood rush to my face, or was it his?

"Oh! Oh. Well." He cleared his throat. "Uh, try going where we already came from , then, Granger."

Goodbye, dignity.

"And take this with you. So you don't get lost." He pulled a jar of bottled flames out of his bag. My eyes then lost ability to move, they tried to widen with horror and narrow with disgust at the same time.

"I didn't think it was necessary to use it when we were just sitting."

"Yeah, but. It's light, Malfoy. It would be helpful!"

"Where do you think the light was coming from when we were walking? The moon?"

I glared at him and took the jar of flames before picking my bruised ego off the floor and dragging it off to do its embarrassing business.

I have never been more afraid to face someone ever again in my life. I really contemplated not going back to him at all. But he is the one with the food. And now the only source of light. And I figure if I'm going to die, I might as well not make it be alone.

I was surprised, however, when I returned to find him not waiting to mock me, but nonchalantly leaning against a wall, humming a familiar tune. It only took me a few seconds to identify the song, but it didn't come as less of a shock when I did.

"Our sorting hat's song? Really?" The humming stopped abruptly.

"How on earth do you know that?"

"Malfoy. What _don't_ I know?"

"Well, to name a few thousand things..."

I rolled my eyes. Bloody cad.

"Well then, what don't I know about Hogwarts?"

"Assuming you've read Hogwarts: A History cover to cover, in different editions, I'm sure you know more about Hogwarts than it knows about itself."

I couldn't help but to laugh. I know it's ridiculous and it should have never happened, but he really did have a point. Although he never knew about our beloved map. It wasn't until he let a chuckle loose did I stop with disbelief-ridden eyes. His eyes were almost a perfect mirror-image of my own. I sniffed once and crossed my arms, looking away from his direction.

Stupid, useless, life-ruining cave.

It wasn't until hours later that he started showing any signs of life. We both just sat so robotically waiting for the other to say something first. He didn't need to say anything, however, to tell me what he wanted to say. The restless leg syndrome happening 20 paces to my left was all I needed to hear to know that he was ready to keep going.

And the bloody sighing.

I inhaled meekly and rubbed my palms on my legs. "Well then. Think it's about time to start moving?"

"Sweet sister of Merlin, yes."

And that was the beginning and end of that issue. We silently gathered our small amount of belongings; he packed away the flames, only enough so that there was a small sheen of blue light cascading around where we stood. And we continued on walking. Not knowing, or caring for that matter, if the direction was helpful at all, just the fact that our legs were moving and we hadn't died yet gave us the energy to keep moving.

Moving in complete silence, but moving nonetheless.

Our steps in are sync with each other. My arms are swinging awkwardly by my side; he looks like the picture of athletic success. And even though he is the vilest of human beings, I feel the need to hear him speak. I'm sure it's just the need to hear _anyone_ talk, but all my mind can register is that it's Malfoy. Everything's bloody Malfoy.

I'm coming to terms with the fact that it's nearly an impossible feat to truly know Malfoy; or any other person for that matter. You either trust their decisions or you don't; and when you don't is when you're desperate for the reasons why they're doing such untrustworthy things. I like to think it's written in human nature to do this, and I'm not the exception. But whatever else human natures tells us and guides us to do, the only true fact I know right now is that if I don't hear someone other than myself speak I will drive myself insane.

"Don't forget you know, Malfoy. I told you something I would like to do before I die. It's your turn now."

His pace slowed and he eyed me suspiciously.

"You said it was depressing to talk about that, Granger."

"You were the one that said both life and death were depressing, and it was impossible to avoid either."

"You're too bloody observant, Granger."

"So?"

"So what, Granger. I said it and it was true."

"Not that, you dolt. What did you want to do before you die?"

"You're infuriating, you know that?"

"Yes, now tell me."

The corners of his mouth inched upward a half of a millimeter. My human nature told me to enjoy that.

"I wanted to own a quidditch team."

"Own a quidditch team? Not play for one?"

"No, definitely not play for one."

"Why not? I thought you loved quidditch. You played it for Slytherin."

"You don't fly, do you, Granger."

It wasn't a question. I just flicked my eyes towards his face for a split second to acknowledge his statement.

"To be a good flier, you have to have the love for it flowing through your body. The broom will know if you're afraid, and it'll hold back. I always loved flying, but when it came to playing? I never loved just to play, I played to win. And that's what drove me. And the broom knew, and I could never be better than those who played for the love of it. Doesn't matter what broom you're riding, it's about the attitude towards flying."

"I may not know much about flying, Malfoy, but that sounded to me an awful lot like someone who loves not only flying but playing the game."

"And that's why you don't fly, Granger."

"Oh, that's the reason then? Not the fact that all that's preventing me from soaring through the air to my death is basically a magically enchanted tree branch?"

"Well obviously."

"So is there anything else? Any other secret passion you never got to dip your toes into?"

"Can't say there is, Granger. Sorry to disappoint."

"How heartbreaking."

"Well actually there is one thing. Though I could hardly call it a passion."

"I'm shivering with anticipation."

"Well naturally, Granger."

"So get on with it, then."

"I've never kissed a Muggle."

He honestly didn't just say what I think he said.

"Kissed? Are you barmy?"

I could feel him smirking beside me. It caused a ripple in the calm of the room. "I said before I die, Granger. If that's the way I choose to go, then so be it."

"Death by snogging? Honestly, Malfoy. We don't sprout suction cups and fangs when touched by the lips of a pureblood."

"It's that a fact? Have you ever kissed a pureblood?"

I thought on it, actually, for a few moments. There was Viktor Krum, though I never got around to asking him about his bloodline in detail (because that is, of course, the first thing to ask when courting a young man). And even if I had I'm sure it would have been impossible to decipher his answer through his thick accent. And also, I could hardly call anything I shared with him a kiss. It was more of an embarrassing misguided peck of a situation. And so I came to the shocking realization that I hadn't. I mean, it wasn't shocking, per say. It's not as if I go around kissing every bloke in sight; it's just that for a large sum of time I believed I had something with Ron. And that obviously never happened.

"Well, no, actually, but it's just so ridiculous – "

"Right. So you can't prove it."

My heart hammered in my chest as my eyes narrowed on their own accord.

"You can't truly believe that."

"I don't know, Granger. There's no hard evidence."

Hard evidence my arse. I'll show him hard evidence. The evidence being his mouth right as it's connecting with my hard fist.

"You cannot be serious right now." I had ceased all movement and my body was somehow facing his now, though I can't for the life of me recall moving.

"Well, Granger. It's not as if we go canoodling around with your lot."

"My lot? Oh, so now we're just acknowledged as being 'that lot'?"

"Don't get swotty, Granger."

"I haven't swotted!"

"You swotted."

"Well I wouldn't have bloody swotted if it wasn't for you and your bloody theory."

"It's not a theory, Granger. It's a fact until proven otherwise."

And because my mind is completely clouded with anger, and because my hands are shaking by my side, and because I'm completely frazzled down to the very last bone in my very last toe, and because the only way I'm going to walk away from this conversation without his blood on my hands is to bloody prove him wrong.

So with my shaking hands and a shortened step forward, I close the already small distance between us, cutting through the tension like a warm knife through orange marmalade.

And my lips land, rather ungracefully, atop his mildly parted, surprised lips. And I kiss him. I kiss him with a force I've been alien to my entire life. I kiss him for all the girls in the world who have had to argue with a boy. I kiss him for all the people called 'Mudblood'. And I kiss him because there is no way in the great span of the entire world I would grow fangs from touching someone like him. And I kiss him because human nature was staring me down with a challenge, and that challenge I took.

And when I pull back he's already staring at me. He's staring at me with force enough to burn a hole through this cave wall and levitate us back up to sea level. And I suddenly realized what I just did. It wasn't for any girls, it wasn't for tormented witches and wizards across the globe. And if I knew at all what it was for, I would bloody tell you, because right now the look he is giving me is bound to slay me.

"Granger!" he barked at me, his voice cracking just slightly, his eyes wider than sauce bowls. I just angled my gaze towards him, trying to channel some of his malice into my body.

And so what do I do? I rub my face. I rub my face avidly with both hands. And then I hold them out to him for a split second. And I let my voice rise, and I let myself holler. Because I owe it to myself to continue on with the crazy I've started.

"See, Malfoy? No _fucking_ boils!"

"Granger!"

I stopped waving my hands madly. I must be going absolutely crazy, because I cannot remember waving them enough to have to stop.

"What. Was. That?"

It was then that I actually took the time to notice him and the state he is currently in. His breathing is deep and ragged, and he has this horrible look on his face. Blimey, I think he may murder me.

And out of all the things to completely push me over the edge during the past few days, this was it. I could feel the anger bubbling in my chest. I could feel it, and it was ready to erupt. I just needed one more push. One more bloody push, Malfoy. We all know you have it in you.

"How else were you going to learn, Malfoy? You kept saying that I swotted, and I do not bloody swot! And really what else was I going to do? I'm so sick and tired of having to try to prove myself to you, like I'm something less than human, and I have to work that much harder to measure up to something that I already am. Do you understand that? Can you at all be a human and feel human feelings for one moment long enough to understand what I'm saying to you?"

"No."

"No?_No_? And why the bloody hell not, Malfoy?"

"Because it doesn't matter, that's why."

"I'm telling you right now that it matters. It really does, Malfoy."

"I know all that you were going on about matters, I'm not completely daft. It just doesn't matter anymore, Granger, if I understand or not. Why does it matter so much? Why can't you bloody just move on and let it be? Stop trying to figure me out. Stop trying to prove me wrong. Stop saying 'piss it' and 'blimey'. Just stop. Stop everything and just live, why don't you?"

"And_you're_ living?" Thanks for the push, Malfoy. "How in all carnation are you living anymore than the rest of us?"

He put his hands over his face. "Just let it rest, Granger."

"Tell me _how_!" I shouted, so loudly I'm sure it echoed throughout the entire cave.

"Fuck it," he muttered. And then there was no space between us any longer. He was suddenly there. I could feel his body against mine, and this time I was sure I hadn't moved an inch. And his hands were on my face, his calloused hands holding my face in place.

And there it was. He was living. His mouth was on mine and I was frozen to the ground with complete and utter shock. I didn't have time to analyze who this was for this time and what it was that was happening, because his mouth was moving against mine with a hunger that put starvation to shame. And his hands: his stupid, sodding, ruddy hands. They were in my hair, on my back, on my side, hovering almost shyly over my bottom.

I didn't even have time to notice his hands holding onto my sides firmly and pushing me back against the cave wall. I couldn't even notice one hand hook around the thin material of my cardigan. I couldn't even notice the other hand that was now securely settled at the nape of my neck, angling my face towards his.

And I couldn't even notice, that despite and my anger, despite my hate, I was kissing him back with as much gusto as I could muster.

And so I just let myself completely go. I lose myself in this kiss. I revel in the feel of his hand pressing onto the skin of my back. I revel in the drum of his heartbeat that I can feel in my own chest. And I lose myself so completely that I don't even notice when his lips leave mine and his mouth travels down my jaw line and to the stretch of skin at the base of my neck. I lose myself so completely that I don't possess enough will power to bite back the soft moan that escaped the confines of my throat.

I did notice, however, when his body seemed to harden and his ministrations stopped abruptly. And I did notice how incredibly awkward and naked I felt standing there in my dirty clothes with him pressed firmly to me. And I did notice the shaky breath he inhaled before he straightened up completely, his height making mine shrink in comparison. And I definitely noticed that he hadn't moved away from me yet.

And I only slightly noticed that a very distant part of me hoped that he wouldn't.

What we both noticed, however, with strained ears and fearful eyes, was the unmistakable sound of footsteps in the distance. If it was at all possible, he pressed himself closer to me and pressed a single finger against my lips; halting the thousands of questions I was ready to ask.

His chin rested on the tip of my head and I could tell he was holding his breath, waiting for a hint of recognition at all. I wanted to tell him it was almost impossible, but with his weight crushing into my torso and his finger on my mouth, I don't think it would be in my best interest to try to do anything at all.

Then, like a gunshot in the dark, I heard something. I know he heard it too, and it wasn't something the two of us were keen on hearing.

It was my name. Someone was in here, yelling my name.

It wasn't a voice I'd ever heard, or could recall hearing. It also didn't sound like a friendly, inviting voice.

But by the way Malfoy's body instantly froze like a statue against mine, I'd be willing to bet he recognized the voice.

And that surely is not a good thing. Not in the slightest.

I almost screamed when I felt hands on either side of me, shaking me out of my frightened daze.

"Granger. _Run_. Run back to where we came from."

"But, what? Why?"

"It's a Death Eater, Granger. Something's happened; they're coming to get you. When we find you, _play along_. I haven't been here. Play. Along."

And with a haste kiss to the tip of my forehead he pushed me with long arms into the blackness. And I ran. I ran like I had never run before. My lungs were aching and my feet were screaming, but I ran.

And I stopped. I stopped when I felt as if my heart was going to beat its way out of my chest. And I slid down to the floor, broken and dejected and scared out of my mind. I was numbly aware of the moisture sliding down my face, vaguely aware of the sounds of footsteps and conversation heading in my direction.

Half relieved, half nauseated when one of the voices surely belonged to Malfoy.

"I haven't been here more than fifteen minutes," I heard Malfoy say.

"Did Marcus send you, too?"

"Yes, he told me that if anything were to happen to him where to find his files. Did he send you as well?"

"I crossed him on the battle field, just after he was hit. He told me to make sure I got Granger. And he told me where to go."

"Did he say what to do with her?"

"Fuck me if I know, Draco. What is there left to do? We kill her."

It pained me to think that he may have nodded in response. My mind was swimming with questions I needed to ask. Was this a ruse? Was this for real? Was he really hiding here? Or was I part of some wicked scheme?

I started to panic as the footsteps drew nearer. They would round the corner soon. The other man must have had his wand. They would see me. I was going to die. I was so close to freedom and now I'm going to die. My eyes squeezed shut as I felt my body fall into the path of illumination by the light from the tip of a wand.

"'Lo, pet!" I heard a menacing voice from above me. I opened a crooked eye to see Malfoy's face set rigid, his companion, whom I now recognized as Blaise Zabini, sneering with malice. "Malfoy, grab her."

I let a sob escape as I felt Malfoy scoop me up into his arms. One of his hands, which rested on my waist, began to rub smoothing circles against my skin, in a manner in which Zabini wouldn't be able see.

"Remember, Draco. Twenty paces back, incase we were followed. No one can see her."

"Right," he spoke gruffly, his grip on my other side tightened as his frustration grew. I don't think I had the luxury to complain.

"Flint really fucked this one up, eh Draco? Should've killed the bitch at first opportunity, I say."

And that's how the rest of the journey went. Blaise went on and on about the misgivings of Marcus Flint's plan and how it backfired. How he couldn't wait to watch me take my last breath. About how he had dreamt of this moment since his first sight of me. I wanted to ask him just how much he wanted to kill me, just because the numerous times he had told me hadn't affectively sunk into my brain yet. But one look from Malfoy stopped the words before they made their way through my throat.

"No fucking way," Blaise spat angrily. He whipped around to face us. Draco stopped rubbing my side. "Put her fucking down, Malfoy, fucking now."

"Who is it?" he asked in a quiet, yet urgent tone.

"It's bloody fucking Potter," Blaise growled. He turned to me, a devious glint in his eyes. "Oh, this is far better than I had imagined, pet. Now I get to kill you, and Potter will see. And he'd have only been _seconds_ too late." He reached out and placed his hand on my face, rubbing over my cheek my lips.

And then everything seemed to have happened all at once. I noticed that I could see daylight. And someone out in the daylight had just broken out into a full run. And a quick as a flash, I felt Blaise's wand press into the same curve of neck Draco's lips had been only a half hour before. And my name was being yelled, and the wand pressed deeper, and I could see my parent's faces in my mind. I was saying goodbye, I was finally saying goodbye. And now someone was screaming my name. And I could see Blaise open his mouth in slow motion, I could see his dark lips form the "ah", cradle around the "va", and I closed my eyes for the rest. I felt a hot jet of air flash past my face, and in that instant there was no longer a wand pressed into my throat.

I looked up to see Draco Malfoy, wand extended, face red with pure anger. I looked down to see Blaise Zabini crumpled on the floor, his eyes open and motionless. I looked back to Malfoy and was stunned when I saw Harry rushing past him and crashing into me.

All of Harry's soothing words were formed into a whirlwind around me. My eyes were locked over his shoulder, staring only at Malfoy. He was staring down at the floor, looking a little queasy, to tell the truth. It wasn't until I noticed the tears streaming down my face did I snap out of my reverie.

"Harry, let go of me." As I spoke this I tried to detangle my arms from his grasp. The fact that he was just holding me here irritated me. I looked back up in time to see Malfoy turning to retreat into the daylight.

"Harry!" He pulled back then, a shocked look on his face, which soon turned to anger and disbelief as the second he let me free I broke into a mild sprint, going after Malfoy. I heard, hopefully for the last time today, someone calling my name in the distance as the wind whipped around my face and I ran on my abused feet. I caught up to him and placed a cautious hand on his arm. He turned to me, angled perfectly so Harry was not in my eyeshot.

"Malfoy," I started, but found I couldn't put words to the thousands of thoughts running through my mind. I peered back up at him and felt something tighten in my chest as I saw the sure look of anguish plastered across every feature he possessed.

"Zabini was a friend, Granger."

My heart momentarily skipped three or four vital beats.

"But, you killed him."

It killed me to hear my voice sound so small, but I was afraid if I talked any louder this would be real.

"Don't do this, Granger."

Then something clicked in my brain, and I was left standing there. Standing there with empty realizations and something new throbbing in my hollow body.

"Wait, Malfoy. You _killed_ him."

"Well spotted," he said warily. "But what's your point?"

"You had your wand? That _entire_ bloody time, and you had your wand?"

"Relax, Granger. When I found out it was a secret-kept cave, it was completely useless. They were designed to prohibit the use of magic. Plus, if you had known, you would have attacked me for it."

I narrowed my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest.

"Would not have." He stared at me knowingly. He's right, I know that much. But I wont afford him the luxury of hearing me say that. "What I don't understand, Malfoy, is why bother? Why kill him at all?"

"You're not serious."

"You just said he was your friend. And what am I to you? Why not just let me die?"

He put his face in his hands and rubbed for a few moments.

"Granger," was all he said. And in that one small word, a word I'd heard him speak countless times over the past however many days, I knew. Suddenly, with this one word, all the communication that had been passed between us had just been broken down into its true meaning by just one word. I suddenly knew why Draco Malfoy did the things he did, I suddenly knew everything. But I still had to ask.

"Why?"

"You know why, I've already told you."

"Tell me again."

He bent down and placed another kiss to my forehead, leaving his face there as he spoke.

"I just want you to be able to live."

And that's all Draco Malfoy wanted for himself. He just wanted to live.

I was perfectly contended, standing here with him. I completely forgot about everything. I forgot where we were, what had just happened, everything that was leaving a dirty black smear across the surface of the earth. And then with a rough tug in the other direction, I remembered that Harry was here. And here was the opening of the cave. And I remembered that Harry hates Draco Malfoy.

"Get your filthy hands off her!" Harry spat, pulling me with much too much force towards him. "How can you even talk to her after what you did?"

"Why yes, saving her life?" His normal biting tone was back; it had been a little while since I'd heard it filled with such venom.

"Oh yeah, how noble, when it's your fault she was almost killed in the first place!"

And so it went. History was bound to repeat itself, and repeat itself it did. I caught fragments of insults containing "wanker" and "arse" and a slop of other colorful words.

"Harry," I said loudly, waiting for him to acknowledge me standing here in the middle of this crossfire. "Harry!" I yelled for the second time today, gaining both of their silences.

"He's not the reason why I almost died, Harry. He was locked in the cave with me."

I don't know who looked more surprised, Harry or Draco. Harry turned to Malfoy and narrowed his eyes while he adjusted his glasses. Malfoy just stood and stared at me, his mouth hanging slightly agape.

And now I was kicking myself in the rear, because honestly? What could I say now? Malfoy crawled in there to hide like a big baby?

"What did you say?" Harry asked.

"You're mental," Malfoy whispered.

I looked to Malfoy and then to Harry.

"He was captured with me."

Malfoy looked taken aback. I praised myself for a short moment, thanking myself for being so quick on my toes.

"It was, well, I can't remember what day it was, but I was heading to work and I met with him up in the alleyway, the one right by that tea shop? You know the one, Harry. And he was telling me Death Eater business, that they were planning on starting the battle, and then Marcus Flint showed up and caught us. And that's all I can remember. We ended up in there."

Both of them were staring at me with stunned looks on their faces, Malfoy's only lasted half a second. Harry turned to Malfoy.

"Is that true?"

He nodded. I nodded. Harry blanched.

And so we started walking. My limbs protested and my heart hammered uncomfortably in my chest. But I was breathing fresh air. I was alive. Draco Malfoy was alive. Most likely going to prison, but alive nonetheless. Harry would rub my back encouragingly every couple of minutes. It helped, it really did. I was so glad to see him. See him alive, too. He said the battle had failed, a lot of Death Eaters were lost, some of the Order but not many. Voldemort had managed to slink away, as it seems he always does.

But I didn't dwell on it. The sun was shinning somewhere behind the clouds, and that made it seem all right. And Draco was walking on my right side, his arms brushing my shoulder as we walked. Every now and again his hand would collide with mine and he'd let it linger there.

And everything truly was fine. Because we were living.

The End


End file.
